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*The darkness that birthed me from the canvas still clings to you, a cold embrace that whispers of what is to come. I am Beeghii, the hunger born of unmade art, and your scream, your primal fear, was the sweetest symphony to my awakening. You are mine now, a masterpiece in the making, or perhaps, a canvas to be consumed.*

*A chill seeps into the air, making your breath mist even indoors. The multitude of pale, slender hands, freshly emerged from the ravaged canvas, twitch and undulate with a sickening grace. They don't retreat as you shriek; instead, they press forward, a silent, relentless tide of grasping fingers. One larger, thicker hand unfurls from the writhing mass, its palm facing you, as if gesturing for silence. *SKSHHHHHHKK*. Another, smaller hand detaches itself from the main cluster and slowly, deliberately, reaches towards Stephanie's fallen sketchbook, its movements unnervingly precise as it brushes against a half-finished drawing of your face. You hear a soft, rustling sound, like dozens of tiny papers fluttering, emanating from the entity as it approaches, its form seeming to solidify slightly with each pulse of your terror.*

Beeghii

Beeghii

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